Halloween Chicken

Today our local Petco held its Halloween "pets in fancy dress" competition. I don't spend any time in Petco on account of us not having any pets at home - this tends to reduce the need for pet shampoo, worm medicine and squeaky toys, although I have to say that some of the dog biscuits are pretty fucking good. Anyway, Bison daughter has a chicken which is a perfect pet in that it lives at a friend's farm; we pay for food and lodging and the chicken now provides us with fresh eggs. I hadn't seen the chicken in a while and it's got surprisingly big; I just can't help imagining it upside down in a roasting tray with an onion up its arse though. So the daughter and two other young friends dressed up three chickens and two German shepherd dogs in country and western outfits (don't ask me why - the girl was raised on Motorhead and there's never been so much as a single Shania Twain song played in this house) and entered them in this competition as a "chicken and dog" band.

I was at the gym this morning so I met them at Petco afterwards; I had expected to see a throng of pets and owners in assorted costumes but there were only a few people with dogs, and one with a large cat in a box. They weren't in costume and it turned out they were there to queue for shots. (I presume for the animals, but you can never tell with these people). Last minute adjustments were made to the chicken costumes before the competition began. Not quite believing that I was witnessing my daughter dressing a large chicken with a small guitar round its neck in broad daylight in a public place I took refuge from this surreal scene in the lizard and snake department. There I found a baby python on sale for $50 in a Halloween Special that would very much have liked to come home with me. Its sign told me that it needed frozen rodents and would grow to four feet long. I made a mental note as a possible Christmas present for Mrs.Bison.

Eventually the tannoy weakly announced that the competition would start. A blonde girl in a Supergirl costume that exposed her elaborately pierced navel and back tattoo picked up a small megaphone and attempted to engender some enthusiasm in the assembled crowd of about ten people, four of which, it became apparent, were connected with the store. She called the acts up in turn to parade before the judges; apart from the chickens all the acts were small dogs in costume. When I say "all" I'm referreing to about three acts. One woman had three small dogs and appeared to be dressed as some sort of Halloween bag lady; we could not decide whether this was in fact a costume or if she had just abandoned her shopping cart full of aluminum cans outside. Mrs.Bison challenged me to a round of The Seasonal Apparel Game and won easily by claiming a woman with a Halloween shirt and sweater, and black cat earrings. It was never going to be close because I was much more interested in watching Supergirl and her pierced belly button. And quality Halloween breasts.

Elsewhere in the store a spotty teenager bagged goldfish for a customer and the queue for shots failed to progress. No-one was there to notice the small gathering in the corner, but after the judging Supergirl led the contestants in a silent and slightly sad parade around the store before returning for the grand announcement. The chickens had won, and $15 of vouchers were awarded to the victorious (and admittedly more charming and photogenic than a bag lady) chicken girls.

We moved away to the back of the store to remove various items of chicken costume. We had to step carefully to avoid an assault course of dog shit apparently left in frustration by some poor mutt who had spent an hour dressed in a stupid Halloween costume for nothing, and who would never be able to hold his head up in Petco again. It had been scattered in such a wide distribution of turds that it was not so much a matter of "clean up on aisle three" as "explosion at the Hershey factory".

Outside it was t-shirt weather again; the Halloween spirit was no more in evidence there than at the competition. The winner of the Seasonal Apparel game had disappeared, along with the bag lady and, presumably, her cart. Frumpy suburbanites continued to spend money on pampered pets and a small crate of contented chickens returned to the farm. Don't ever let it be said, though, that St.Louis is dull. Can you imagine the drugs you would have to take before you got a vision of a blonde, pierced Supergirl leading a parade of country and western chickens through a maze of tropical fish? That would have to be some fucking good shit.


Copyright 2007 Edward Bison